


It Only Hurts Because It Has To Be Done

by WhiteIronWolf (adoctoraday)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asgard (Marvel), Blood and Injury, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Protective Bucky Barnes, Starvation, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/WhiteIronWolf
Summary: The trap had been sprung before they could react and now all of James’s worst nightmares are coming true. Now he has to watch as Hydra tries to destroy the man he loves.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 64
Kudos: 234





	It Only Hurts Because It Has To Be Done

Tony swallows hard, throat thick with coppery blood the taste of it heavy on his tongue, exhaustion like iron in his bones. His body is icy cold, and he can’t feel anything anymore in his hands—the bindings they have him in are too tight and when he last had the strength to look up, they were bloodless and white. 

His bare toes scrape the floor, dragging through the dirt and splatters of his blood on the cold concrete. In the distance he can hear bootsteps approaching and when he manages to lift his chin to peer at the doorway agony races up his spine and into the base of his skull. 

His muscles spasm as the heavy steel door clangs against the wall and through the haze of agony that lights his brain on fire, he sees James being dragged back into the room. He’s limp between two Hydra soldiers, and Tony whimpers when he sees that James’s metal arm is gone—they’ve taken it from him. 

The men fling James like he’s no more than trash, his body slamming into the cold hard ground with a muted thump that makes Tony lurch forward in his bindings in protest, shouting as pain rips through his body. 

He doesn’t care about the pain, all he cares about is James, and when he twists in his bindings again, a man steps into the room, a grimly amused smile on his face. It’s a face that Tony’s become intimately familiar with in the past few days and he fights the urge to cringe away when the man reaches out and grabs his chin in a bruising grip. 

“Your struggle is admirable, but ultimately useless Stark.” 

The man’s eyes are piercing and blue, cruel and assessing and Tony  _ hates  _ him with a passion he didn’t know he had left in him. 

Tony’s tongue is heavy in his mouth but he works up a globule of blood tinged saliva and spits it in the man’s face, pride rippling weakly through him when it lands on the man’s cheek. 

The man’s eyes are icy with amusement as he lifts a gloved hand and wipes off his cheek. He studies the black leather for a moment before backhanding Tony so hard that his vision goes black for a moment, his body spinning from the hook he’s been hung from for hours each day. 

His head swims as he spins, dizzy and nauseous—and he hopes he doesn’t get sick because he’s got nothing left in his stomach to give. He’s dehydrated and starving and his stomach feels like it’s going to cave inwards, but it’s nothing in comparison to the agony he’s suffered in the days they’ve been held here. 

As he’s taken down from the hook and his arms are allowed free of their bindings, he screams, head ringing with the throbs of his heart, sobs wracking his chest as he’s tossed to the floor beside James. He dry heaves at the pain, and then vomits when a well polished boot connects to his ribs. 

He shudders around it, gasping wetly, bloody drool dripping from his lips as he stares unseeingly at the concrete floor, a small pool of bile inches from his face. 

The iron grip is back on his jaw, forcing his head up so he can meet that coldly amused gaze. “You see Stark, pain brings order, and through that order, peace. Make peace with your pain and it will end.”

Tony can’t respond, too choked on pain to do much more than breathe raggedly and stare into the man’s eyes. The man chuckles softly and swipes at the blood on Tony’s chin, “Make peace tonight Stark, or tomorrow you’ll find none.”

Tony’s head thumps weakly to the ground when the man releases his jaw, the ache in it from his grip nearly indistinguishable from all the other pain in his body. 

The door clangs shut and Tony lays there, sobbing breaths falling from his bloody lips, too weak to move. 

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, shivering in pain, crying softly as the fiery agony in his limbs spreads as blood returns to his extremities. 

Everything is pain now. 

Eventually James rouses and hushes Tony as he’s done every night they’ve been in this hell together, gathers him up against his chest and holds him close, nose buried in Tony’s hair as he hums a lullaby and rocks Tony till the pain fades enough for the exhaustion to take him. 

It’s not fair, Tony thinks, that James should have to endure this all over again, just because Tony wasn’t fast enough to see the trap closing around them before it snapped shut. 

Life, Tony has found, is rarely fair or kind. 

This is no exception. 

* * *

James watches Tony sleep in his arms, worry lodged in his chest, heart in his throat. He can count Tony’s ribs, feels the papery quality of his skin from dehydration, the bruises on his skin dark and lingering from starvation. 

It’s been a week that they’ve been here in this hell, and James hates himself for not breaking them out, but they’d disabled his arm when they’d taken him and beaten him bloody every day, injected him with things that burned and turned his insides to fire as he screamed. 

Any energy he has left is used to hold Tony, to caress his sweaty brow and sing him to sleep, to keep him close even if he can’t keep him safe. He can feel the thready beat of Tony’s pulse under his fingers, the raspy quality to his breathing bringing tears to James’s eyes. 

They’ve had so short a time together—barely three months of happiness and laughter and amazing sex, and now  _ this _ . James swallows a sob and tucks his face into Tony’s throat, inhaling shakily. 

He can smell death circling them, and he knows it’ll come for Tony first. 

He’d fight it with only one hand, with every beat of his heart and breath in his lungs, but he’s scared that there’s nothing his super soldier serum can do against an unseen enemy. 

When they come and rip Tony from his arms and drag him from the room, James growls and lunges after him and receives a kick to the jaw in retaliation. When he continues to struggle they inject him with something that burns in his veins and turns his mind into melting honey. 

His back slams into a chair that looks eerily familiar and when the coronal ring lowers, he screams and screams and screams. 

* * *

Tony’s hanging again, and this time there’s blood running down his skin in hot rivulets. He’s shaking uncontrollably from the agony of it, the blood loss making his head light, gasping breaths making it even lighter. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” James whispers, eyes dark with rage and grief as he pulls the knife from Tony’s arm, the blade making a wet sucking sound as it tears free. 

Tony whimpers and gags, there’s  _ so much _ blood...he’s bleeding from yet another wound and James put it there. 

He feels sick, but there’s nothing left for his body to give—Tony agreed to this, but is it really worth it for a deal of food and water? 

He’s not so sure anymore. 

“Oh, come now. Don’t waste my time,” the Hydra agent with the cruel eyes growls, moving in from behind and grabbing James’s hand. 

He fists a hand in James’s hair and with their combined force the knife plunges deep into Tony’s chest blood pouring out in hot rivers. As Tony thrashes, sobbing and screaming, the man with the cruel eyes leans in, smiling lips brushing against James’s cheek, hot breath on his skin. 

“See? Maybe all you need is a little  _ guidance  _ soldat,” he murmurs. “You remember how to do this, don’t you? Feels like coming home, hmm?” he purrs. 

Tony chokes on the sobs wracking his chest, vision blurred by tears and agony. He barely feels it when the release him, gasping and crying as James holds him, hand putting pressure on the wound in his chest, blood seeping out around his fingers. 

Eventually he’s too tired to cry, too exhausted and agonized to do much more than lie against James’s chest and breathe shallowly. 

His dry lips part when James encourages him, cool dank water slipping past them a little at a time, and still, some of it slips down his jaw and pools in the hollow of his throat. 

It’s followed by a sludgy warm soup that he turns away from after only a few bites. 

He’s so tired…

“Tony, baby, you’ve gotta eat,” James whispers, voice raw and wet. The spoon nudges at his lips and he parts them with a heavy sigh, swallowing another bite. 

“That’s it baby, that’s so good.”

He can do it….for James. 

He passes out between one bite and the next. 

* * *

James cradles Tony’s limp body, sobbing as he nuzzles into Tony’s dirty, sweaty hair. The stink of infection and death clings to his skin, and James knows, it won’t be long now. 

* * *

Every breath is agony. 

Inhaling feels like he’s sucking fire into his lungs. 

Exhaling feels like he’s being torn apart by razors from the inside out. 

He hears someone calling his name distantly, like he’s underwater and drowning. 

He’s so tired….

* * *

The compound is chaos around them; James has Tony slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry as he fights his way through the halls, firing the gun he’d stolen from one of the dead. 

He can hear Tony’s breathing rasping loudly in his ear and terror rips into his guts with razor sharp claws, tearing him apart each time Tony’s breathing stutters and stills for too long. 

He rounds a corner and ducks back as a hail of gunfire is turned their way. He’s gentle when he lowers Tony to the ground, but he thinks at this point it wouldn’t matter what he did—Tony isn’t conscious and James is scared that he’ll never open those gorgeous brown eyes again. 

He takes a deep breath and then edges around the corner, firing at the stragglers till they’re all dead. He grunts as he leans down to pick Tony up—he’d taken a bullet to the gut and hadn’t even felt it in the rush of adrenaline. 

It’s as he’s making his way down the hall, hot blood soaking into his worn and ragged shirt with each step he takes that he hears Tony’s breathing stop. 

Terror rages through him and he falls to his knees as he lowers Tony to the ground, hands shaking as he reaches for Tony’s throat to search for a pulse. 

There’s nothing. 

“No! No, not like this,” he sobs, tilting Tony’s head back so he can nudge his mouth open and force air into his lungs. He’s careful, so so careful because he knows if he breathes too hard he could blow out one of Tony’s lungs. 

His hands are shaking when he starts compressions, wincing when he hears a rib crack. He cries and gasps Tony’s name, begging him not to give up, heart pounding in his own chest as he forces the one in Tony’s chest to beat. 

“Please, please, don’t go Tony,  _ please _ ,” he gasps, leaning down to breathe life into Tony’s limp body. 

“C’mon, fuck, Tony,  _ live _ ,” he demands, tears on his cheeks as he does yet more compressions. 

God, if Tony dies…

“Please, someone,  _ help, _ ” he sobs, looking down the hallway at all the dead bodies around them. 

In the distance he hears the telltale sound of Steve’s shield on concrete and hope races through him. 

“Help is coming baby, you hear that? It’s Steve,” he pants out, compressing Tony’s chest to force blood into his weak and damaged heart. 

Maybe it’s too weak, too damaged. 

Maybe he’s just too late. 

He presses his lips to Tony’s in a horrible mockery of a kiss, shuddering at the way they’re slack and unmoving beneath his. A sob rips from his throat and he looks up hopefully when he hears footsteps, blood going icy when he sees the man with the cruel eyes pointing a gun at them. 

“Step away from him Soldat.”

James snarls and curls over Tony’s body protectively, silently calculating how long he has without oxygen and blood being forced through his body. 

Not long, he knows, not with how damaged and broken Tony’s body is. 

The man huffs a sigh and levels the gun at James’s head. “Move Soldat, or I’ll put a bullet in your spine and drag you out of here.” 

“Not if I put one in you first,” a soft, throaty voice murmurs. The man half turns, and dies with a surprised look on his face as he falls to the ground, a bullet between his eyes from Natasha’s gun. 

“Fuck you,” James snarls at the corpse, heart hammering in his chest. 

Steve isn’t too far behind Nat, hair in disarray as he jogs up to James, horror in his eyes at the bloody bruised and broken body on the floor. 

Thor breaks through the ceiling a few feet down the hall, cursing softly when he sees what’s happened to James and Tony. He crouches down and reaches for Tony, eyes gentle when they meet James’s. 

“Let me take him,” he urges, “I will take him to Asgard for healing.”

James swallows hard and nods, taking Thor’s elbow when it’s offered, eyes locked on Tony’s still and silent form. 

The Bifrost opens around them and he’s consumed by a rainbow of light and sound, hope choking him as he clings to Thor. 

This has to work. It has to. Otherwise…

Otherwise he has nothing left. 

* * *

James sleeps beside Tony’s bed, his own injuries healed by the serum and the magic of the Asgardians. 

Tony’s chest rises and falls slowly, his sleep so deep that James worries he’ll never rouse, though the Asgardians assure him that eventually, when his body is healed, Tony  _ will  _ rejoin the world of the living. 

Sighing heavily, he scrubs his hands over his face, the tightness in his shoulders making his back hurt. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

He’d barely heard Thor’s approach in his distraction, his exhaustion bone deep in a way he’s never felt before. The healers here fixed his wounds days ago and tried to encourage him to rest, but every time he’d closed his eyes he’d seen Tony’s lifeless body bleeding out on the floor. 

“My friend, join me for dinner,” Thor murmurs, voice soft and kind. 

James doesn’t want to leave Tony, but he knows his metabolism needs food, so he nods tiredly and stands, vision spotting for a moment before he shakes his head like a dog, the spots bleeding away slowly. 

He follows Thor to his private chambers and is surprised to see Loki there too, the room warm and lit lowly. Thor claps him on the shoulder and waves him over to the low table that’s been laden with food. 

He sinks into the heavily cushioned couch opposite Thor and Loki, mind numb as he stares at the food. 

“Here, try this,” a low voice murmurs, and then there’s a plate of food being offered to him. He looks up in surprise and finds Loki looking at him with kind eyes, lips turned up at the corner in what might be a smile. 

He takes it with a nod and eats without noticing for a few moments before the bright sparkling burst of sweetness from a strawberry captures his attention. 

After that it’s a bite of chicken and then hearty bread and Thor hands him a mug of honeyed mead, and before he knows it they’re conversing about Asgard and it’s legends—conversation he doesn’t have to invest much thought in, though he’s still mildly interested in the stories. 

He shifts a little, on the couch, eyes growing heavy, listening as Thor and Loki spin stories, their voices low and melodic. He barely notices when he slips further down, and by the time Thor lays a blanket over him, he’s fast asleep. 

His sleep is deep and dreamless and peaceful.

* * *

Nearly ten days pass before Tony wakes, abruptly and in the middle of the night, the low glow of magic lights bathing James’s sleeping face in golden light. 

He stares at the other man, studying the dark circles under his eyes and the beard on his face. It’s obvious that James hasn’t slept much at all, though Tony really isn’t sure how long it’s been since he—

Well

_ Died  _

He sucks in a shaky breath at that, because he’s come so close  _ far  _ too many times in the past, but this time, his heart had actually stopped and the lights in his brain had come dangerously close to fading away forever. 

He shudders softly and lifts a hand to press gently against his chest, letting the feeling of his steady heartbeat lull him back to sleep. 

* * *

He isn’t healed completely, not by any stretch of the imagination—but the Asgardians agree that he’s well enough to return home, and for that, Tony is deeply grateful. 

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate all they’ve done, but he wants to be home, in his bed, safe in James’s arms. 

Speaking of…

He frowns at how far away James is standing, the empty shoulder where Hydra had taken his arm like a scream in an empty room. It’s loud, in its emptiness, aching and sorrowful, and Tony is already itching to get home and fix it. 

When it comes time for Heimdal to send them back, James loops an arm around his waist and smiles sadly at him, and then his vision is filled with a rush of color as the Bifrost sends them home. 

* * *

The darkness of death is cold and unforgiving, and the terror of it grips him in the small hours of the night. He shudders and moans as his still healing injuries ache and throb, the cold sweat on his skin making him stick to the sheets. 

Tony shivers and blinks away tears, heart in his throat when he realizes the bed is cold and empty. 

James is gone. 

A whimper scrapes out of his raw throat and he struggles to sit up, heart hammering in his chest. Licking his lips, he calls for James, voice low and hoarse. He’s confused and scared and  _ where the hell is James  _ is the only thing he can focus on beyond the bitter taste of terror that lingers in his mouth. 

The bedroom door cracks open and Tony flinches, scrambling back against the headboard before he realizes that it’s James. He’d recognize that metal arm anywhere—he’d made sure they reattached the backup as soon as they returned from Asgard, and James hasn’t allowed him back in the workshop since. 

“Tony? What’s the matter doll?” 

At James’s soft voice he sobs, the tension in his body finally snapping as he reaches out blindly, begging James through his tears to come hold him. 

There’s a low curse in Russian and then James is climbing into the bed with him, wrapping him in his arms and rocking him gently as he weeps. He feels like he shatters apart then, like every tiny piece of him is cast to the wind and carried away. 

Tony clings tightly to James, sobs into his broad chest until his throat is raw and his eyes ache. James rubs his back and kisses his hair, singing softly in his low tenor, the gentle cadence of it soothing. 

Eventually his tears slow to soft whimpers and unsteady breaths, his whole body exhausted and worn thin. James shuffles them down so Tony is laying on top of him, face pressed into his throat, and Tony inhales unsteadily, heart in his throat. 

“Where were you?” he finally asks. 

He can feel it when James stiffens beneath him and then sighs heavily, one large hand leaving Tony’s back to cradle his head. Metal fingers brush through his hair and then press into his scalp gently, massaging away the headache Tony hadn’t realized he had. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” James answers, “went to get a glass of water and JARVIS said you were awake and calling for me.”

Tony hums sleepily. That makes sense. 

Lips press to his brow and he sighs deeply, exhaustion pulling him back into the black dreamless tides of sleep. 

* * *

James watches Tony sleep from the corner of the room, knees tucked up against his chest, too long hair falling around his face. 

It physically pains him to see Tony look at him with such sad eyes, but he can’t...he can’t bear to touch him. 

How could he? 

After what he’d done? 

He’d tortured Tony, taken him apart so they could get meager scraps of food and water and he’d done it because Hydra had offered them the cruel deal and Tony had insisted. 

Tony, who he loved. 

Who he’d had barely three months with before the monster in the closet had tried to devour them both. 

He’s contemplated leaving—going to Wakanda or Asgard or somewhere else that no one knows him and living a life of obscurity. 

Maybe then Tony would be safe. 

He watches Tony sleep and as the sun starts to glow around the edges of the curtains he slips back into bed and holds him close. When Tony wakes he’ll have no idea James hasn’t been there all night, beside him. 

The bruises are long gone from Tony’s face, but James knows that the damage done underneath the surface is so much worse than any cut or bruise. 

It lingers longer, slower to heal. 

James would know—he’s the one who did the damage. 

* * *

Tony’s done something wrong. 

He doesn’t know  _ what _ , but he knows he’s fucked up  _ something.  _

Otherwise, why would James be shying from his touch and cringing when Tony touches his metal arm? He can see James trying to hide his reactions, but Tony recognizes the signs—he’d seen them when he was four and his father had failed to hide his annoyance at Tony wanting a hug. 

He knows what it looks like to be unwanted. 

So he pulls back, stops touching James so much, stops asking for hugs when he feels like he’s dying inside, and though it kills him slowly, he just smiles and tries to carry on. 

* * *

  
It comes to a head nearly two months later when Steve drops his shield with a clanging that sounds like the cell door opening and Tony flinches away  _ hard.  _

He doesn’t know how he ends up under the table in his workshop, only that when he finally comes back to himself, James is holding onto him, gently rocking him and humming that same lullaby. 

Sniffling hard, he fights the urge to sink into the embrace and instead pushes away, giving James a wan smile. “I’m fine, you don’t have to—I know you don’t like to—” he swallows hard and forces the words out, “I know you don’t want to touch me, so it’s fine, you can—you can just go. I’m sorry for making you stay, for, for clinging to you when you don’t want to be here,” he murmurs, cursing softly as he wipes away the tears that have fallen. 

When he looks up James is stone still, shock and anger carved into his face. 

Tony’s stomach turns and he ducks his head, “I’m sorry you felt like you had to stay, I-I know I shouldn’t have…” he trails off and shakes his head, “it’s fine, I’m fine, you can go.”

Tony lets out a soft huff of surprise when he suddenly finds himself flat on his back, James’s body covering his, those electric eyes pinning him in place. 

“You did  _ nothing _ wrong, you hear me?” James says intently, “ _ nothing.  _ I—” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I hurt you Tony. Everytime I look at you or touch you, I’m right back there,  _ hurting  _ you and it makes me  _ sick,” _ he says, teeth clenched. 

James closes his eyes and shakes his head, “It’s not you baby, it’s  _ me _ ...I’m,” his breath hitches and his face contorts as he tries not to sob and Tony’s heart breaks in his chest. “I’m a  _ monster,”  _ he sobs, and just like that, it’s as though a dam inside him has broken. 

Tony wraps his arms around James’s broad shoulders and pulls him close, holds onto him as his body shakes with his sobs, tears on his cheeks as he listens to James shatter apart in his arms. 

Eventually James’s tears slow and Tony’s back protests laying on the cold hard concrete, so he nudges them up and over to the old couch he’s spent many a night on and then pulls James into his arms.

Tony tucks the blanket from the back of the couch around them and they lay together in silence for such a long time that Tony thinks maybe James has gone to sleep. 

“I think we ought to see someone about what happened.”

It’s said quietly against his ear, James’s breath brushing against his skin, and just for a moment, Tony feels a thrill at the sensation. 

Oddly enough, he agrees. 

He says as much and James hums softly, and then starts humming the lullaby again. Tony can feel the vibrations from James’s chest against his own and he closes his eyes, sinking into the couch a little more. 

James’s weight is comfortable on top of him, warm and reassuring. He rubs James’s back and plays with his hair till he feels the limp body against his snore, a grin teasing at his lips. 

Neither of them are really  _ okay _ , but Tony thinks that in time, they might be  _ better _ ...and that, that gives him hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


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